Best Straggler Poems
"For those who love with heart and soul, there is no such thing as separation"
~By Rumi
Decked in floral wreaths and crown
as I lay in state among family and friends
with my spirit wading through strands forlorn
where lamps shone bright in celestial gleam
bordering a land of bliss out of mortal reach
where neither canker blights, nor flowers wilt
where sorrow never enters and all shall be blest
where each head like the sun aureoled
where God in all His glory doth reign
I saw through my slumber deep, as through a veil
my loved ones grieving great, my journey
unreturned to an untravelled land.
There was crying and whining, sighing and sobbing
in stirring memory of days in all goodness spent
and of bonds stretching beyond life's rim
which set me feel sick of where I was and where I wasn't
so fain to go, so fain to stay,
like a spinning midge,
my spirit veered high and low
between Heaven and Earth
between Mortality and Immortality.
a helium balloon buoyant in the air.
The lions’ wait
Seals the fate of
A late straggler
Quickly surround
Without sound they
Expound teamwork
Bellies content
Hunger spent, the
Pride went to sleep
i.
The day he lost her to a fallen world
He promised to be satisfied with life
His love came from above abundantly
Commissioned to give back put others first
One day the Sturm und Drang hit city streets
He viewed upon his high apartment floor
Then after business hours his neighbors parked
He witnessed many soaked from pouring rain
Instinctively he grabbed umbrella case
He pulled it from the scabbard to withdraw
His saber in right hand, ran down the stairs
Now opened sheltered fabric for the folks
The people parked now waited one by one
Because the gent had hurried them inside
He got the last one in so safe and dry
The people clapped, bade “thanks, umbrella man”
ii
Weeks later:
He heard the honking horn across the street
A straggler struggles out of vehicle
Looks like a neighbor, hadn't seen before
He gets her out of pouring rain, she smiles
This man who was as masculine as can be
Had felt his legs go weak; her pretty face
She saw his handsome face, aglow; proclaimed -
“Am pleased to meet our famed Umbrella Man”
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Glossary
Sturm und Drang: noun - turmoil, storm and stress, violent disturbance and disorder
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Tongue twister line:
From the rustic rover to Samuel Sanders, they try to tickle the tongue with tricky tongue twisters.
1. A rustic rover round the ricks ran restlessly, and restive, he rushed to the nearby rural rill to reinvigorate himself. Then whoever he met, he ranted and raved with him or her with reckless arrogance. Revivified and rejuvenated, the vagrant straggler across the riverbank rumbled and rumbled , and trounced a regal recluse that triggered a fiery ruction. Then another rowdy ragamuffin slapped him hard and a furious rabble raised an unprecedented rumpus.
2. Samuel Sanders, a saucy salesman with sable brow, had an ancestral house in Sussex, but since he was a man of gypsy psyche, of late he strayed into Surrey and settled there for squarely six months, and then set out to straggle across the Sicilian seashore seeking psychological solace in the serene and suave sound of the seawaves.
3. You can't put a better bit of butter on your platter because a martyr did shatter the packet of your butter as it did welter in the gutter, but that waiter did cater you this later, muttering about an utter butter-hater from Gloucester with bitter hauteur.
19th November, 2016
This is as philosophical
As keeping the count,
Binoculars trained
For a whale
That will never spout,
This is not the season,
Hamlet knew.
The Pilgrim knew,
As did the Wife of Bath,
This is discovery,
A poem on the Underground
By Sylvia Plath.
This is the season of butchery,
Bullfights without rules,
Lions shot with a precision rifle,
Selective breeding
On Noah’s ark.
This is as dark as it gets
In a daylight forest,
As stark
As one isolated note
From an aria,
As lonesome as one straggler goose,
Squawking, ‘take me along’.
It was close to Christmas time and late afternoon when our plane arrived in Nashville. My father-in-law, who had been waiting, greeted us with hugs, then shepherded us all out to his van. Usually we’d make it to their place in Cadiz within 2 hours. But on our way there, we noticed cars had slowed.
Little did we know, ahead of us the weather had grown quite foul. Coming up on Clarksville, Dad turned on the wipers, for flecks of falling snow had turned to sleet.
Brooding now, we focused nervously on each detail of the trip; on every sliding motion that was made, on every bump and every straggler we saw that had slid off the road. Meanwhile, ever conscious of the time, I was calculating how much longer it would take to reach our destination as we crawled along at 25 mph!
We made a restroom stop at a McDonald’s. It happened to be closing quite early at that exact moment we pulled in (violent snow storms were rare in Kentucky, and only fools would venture out this night to get a burger!) Against raw wind, eager to escape its nip, we carefully but quickly trod on ice after our stop, returning to the comfort of the van.
Finally we approached our final turnoff, and I noted how those last few miles still would take a half hour more to drive. Late that night, we pulled into the drive-way of my in-laws’ welcoming house lit brightly for Christmas. Feeling the biting cold as we piled out of the van and seeing nothing but the stark white of snow against the dark, I breathed a sigh of relief to have safely arrived!
morning’s light. . . .
the dazzle of trees’ branches
encased in ice
For Debbie Guzzi's Mix It Up Poetry Contest
Nestled deep in the tawny, drab woodland
Sedate cottage neither haughty nor grand
Sparse hovel of unassuming, itinerant brigand
Martial decor of detached highwayman starkly bland
The etched path sculpted by intemperate hand
No manicured garden on the scrubby strand
Briers and brambles errant straggler must withstand
Thatched clapboards stable his stallion firebrand
Unruly swine garnish acorns from scraggly wasteland
Buried deep in his cellar pilfered contraband
Per chance drifter did the terrain assay
And chose that toilsome, forsaken way
A spartan welcome hauteur did convey
No lodgings, accoutrements could sway
If for grace, mercy they did pray
Only a cold shoulder he did relay
If they tested his temperance and sued for trite parley
He reconnoitered their belongings through wordplay
If no net value they were beguiled to betray
Their worthless lives he did indignantly slay
Like a pack of howling wolves in need of prey,
A wounded urban psyche strains its gnarled voice,
Motherless, fatherless, ice cold pavement waif,
Wee small hours plight
The rocks of his facade dispatched in ghost trains
for those ghoulish oil float gutters to imbibe,
Back street burden stray, schooled in fringe art fables,
Phantom kite chaser
Eerie street lights peer into an aimless soul,
Clouds of pea soup fog engulf his raw foot slink,
Firefly knotted angst or bilious grumble,
Trash can tummy fare
But still he ambles on, inner plagues in charge
as loafers from the underworld gawk and gape,
Pithy, a phased out coin for snow cap straggler,
dead of night orphan.
Date Poem Submitted : 19 th Of July 2020
Title : A Dark Underbelly
Sponsor : Edward Ibeh
Inclined on the divan with a book, in my room, I was all alone,
Wrapped in a quilt tucked around my feet, the wind’s moan….
In the cold gusty afternoon sun – casting its timid rays.
The howling squall…blowing outside my window in a daze ,
My skin tingling……as sharp molecule of air brushed against my face …..
And last night it was raining too, in solitude!
With no one around in sight that I could allude………
No one to talk to as I twisted in my loneliness,
Thoughts as waves spun in my mind’s ocean;
There’s a late night straggler on a tipsy motion,
Is he too feeling the same solitude alone in his stroll....
The desire for solitude casting a shadow on my soul!
Our dreams had looked momentarily so bright,
Hopes of a future held so much more in anticipation.
Time we spent were mere memories, lost in isolation,
Insecurities felt to the very core as time eats away the bliss
And between now and then searching for profound solitude amiss~
A glass of red Merlot wine ousting the gloom to the furthest alife…….
Relishing a melody of a single sigh sings me back to life,
Last night I cried out mutely beset by fears of sweet pain
In the silent night where no sound shows face, I choose to listen;
For the sake of untying this ribbon of fear, for hearing a sound,
Besides silence my conscience urges me from roaming around;
In solitude, I woke up in the morning to a collage of memories,
Reading a book out loud - my voice shaking, collecting bits and pieces~
As the heroine longed for togetherness - in an isolated crowd-
To be loved in a relaxing rhythm - in solitude…!!
Growing up in my household
was better than any sit-com episode
Dinner time was always a riot
My parents were strict,
any excuses you gave, they didn't buy it
Me and my siblings,
we were thirteen
Dinner was always between 6 and 8,
so you knew what time to be in the house
If you wanted to eat, don't be late
My parents were strict,
but they were gracious too
They would send one of us out
to find the straggler who had the slow shoe
If you found them, that was cool
But if you didn't, they knew the house rule:
Don't be late,
we're not saving you a plate
There'll be no more cooking,
you know when it's dinner time
Shoulda brought your butt in,
so they didn't wanna hear you whine
Don't be late,
if you wanted to eat
Once you broke the rule,
the consequences you knew
Now ain't you glad
you had a brother like me,
who always saved
a little something for you
Vae victis! Her quick eyes spy out the field.
Reconnoitred, the foe's dispositions have been noted,
quantified, assessed. The forces of order
and tidiness, in neat array,
perfect their alignment, await onslaught.
The sentinels stand guard:
A pot of jam, a jar of marmalade are emplaced
on the strategic salient of the dining-room table.
In battle-dress, knives, forks and spoons,
the infantry, have been fully mobilized. Now battle!
The moment's silence is conflict's omen.
Certain of the issue, she advances,
knowing all order is as brief as day,
while primal Chaos ruled
when all was void.
She crawls towards an unwary footstool,
a defenceless lone straggler near the door.
This, with one fell blow knocked out,
her target would now appear to be the oak sideboard.
With a sideways reel, the feint is over.
Blitzkrieg is launched on the dining-room table,
the heart of enemy operations. She tugs
the table-cloth; a pepper-bomb descends,
inducing heavy sneezing fits
(didn't they outlaw biological warfare?)
Thus repulsed, she makes for the paper-stand;
papers, magazines, ordered by number, edition or day,
take heavy poundings till they lie scattered,
littered on the floor.
The main assault no longer brooks delay! She tugs again -
the infantry charge down.
They miss the mark but make a hellish din.
With head well positioned for cover, she tugs
a third time, and with a mighty splut
the jam-jars teeter, topple and tumble,
and tumblers crash down with deafening jars.
With jammy hands, the victress daubs the walls,
and in triumph commemorates her feat.
By the shindy wakened, Father stalks in,
his face like that of Jupiter tonans
before the fatal blow.
Her sunny smiles pierce the dismal gloom -
O double conquest! Did Gaul, cowering
to the gore-drenched blade, love Caesar,
the British tribes, defeated, bless Agricola?
What smiles leave hard a little tear
makes tender as a lamb, and Dad,
a willing captive to her wiles, gives in -
surrender unconditional.
And Mum?
She'll do the mopping up, of course!
Born in Oklahoma back woods
Three children , each a year apart
Jill, Jim, and Joe were their names
Raised by Mary, bless her heart
Life wasn't easy for Mary
Living in a one room shack
Using an old well for water,
With a rickety outhouse out back!
Last year their papa disappeared
(With a young girl, is what they say)
Mary was forced to take welfare
To help feed her kids each day
She always made her own bread
She'd sell it too, if time would let
Saying, "Makin' bread is my job!"
Something she'd live to regret!
When going to worship each Sunday
To avoid a straggler search,
She'd tie them wrist to wrist with yarn
Then walk up the path to the church
This time Joe forgot his best toy
A Peter Rabbit stuffed with hair
So he yelled out, "I want Peter!"
Mary rolled her eyes in despair!
This Sunday was vocational day
What each parent did was said
"Mama's in retail", "Dad is in stocks"
Jim said, "My mama, is in bread!"
Jill dropped a hymnal, Jim wet his pants
Joe put gum in Mary,s hair
Where he got it she didn't know
And frankly she just didn't care!
Later, most shook hands with the pastor
But Jill, stood pouting with a frown
"I don't want to be tied up",she said
Mary pulled them out with her head down!
The then, tethered trio waddled off
Mary of course always the leader
In the distance all heard a faint shout
It was Joe yelling, "I want Peter!"
O' Lord, leave us not alone,
For if thou leave us on our own
We shall wander like a cow in the green field
This world is a labyrinth and a maze
And without Your guidance we may drift away
From the right and chosen path for success
You hold the keys while we search for the doors
You are Merciful, We are subservient
You are our Master and we are your servants
You know what and how to give
We don't know what and how to ask
You are bountiful and we remain tightfisted
You invite us for success and rewards
We look for material gains and hoardings
You are the conqueror
We are the straggler
Leave us not for this hard test
Help us to obey, follow and succeed….
In this life and hereafter..Aameen.
She said some words and blackbirds cawed
As she stirred her cauldron to a goblin's applaud
Her nose was crooked, her skin was green
As her cackles echoed on Halloween
The Halloween night was filled with gloom
As she patrolled the skies on her trusty broom
She was looking for stragglers, those who lagged behind
Then she'd swoop down and catch them, their fate unkind
The first one she brought back began to scream
But this only made the old hag's eyes gleam
She waved her hand to and fro
And turned him into a crow!
Then off again on her broom she flew
As her cauldron bubbled with a fearsome brew
She saw another straggler dawdling by a gate
She swooped down swiftly to seal his fate
All her victims would scream and scream
Wishing and hoping they were in a dream
10-11-2024
The Gargoyle Yawns
The Fogwalker searches for clues in the moist darkness of early morning. The mist feels it's way through empty alleys and vacant lots.
Cautious footsteps crackle from the gravel pathway lined with broken glass and dry leaves, evidence the Autumn Equinox has smothered the last breath of summer.
Gangways between decaying brick buildings echo from dogs sounding an alarm with menacing Baskerville howls and barks.
A garden of flickering street lights blossom under the black canopy of darkness. These twilight flowers reach for a lazy moon with the dim enthusiasm of jaundice fluorescence.
The Diogenestic odyssey by the nocturnal straggler is an exercise clothed in failure. Honesty dressed in shabby clothes is disguised as a fictitious conviction. This quality that measures the value of character is a virtue that few possess and is rarely practiced.
Who does this best policy of honesty benefit? Is it the one divulging the truth or the recipient of honesty? The best part of this said truth are the lies.
Standing at the edge of night peering over the ledge into dawn the Gargoyle yawns.